Tim the Spirit Healer
by EmSickle
Summary: Tim always wanted to be a hero, shame he had to die to become one. A story about the unsung heroes of the battlefield - the Spirit Healers.


I always wondered what the Spirit Healers think when they're resurecting people and, indeed, how they came to be there. This is only Tim's recounting, but perhaps they all find themselves in similar situations. Enjoy =P

Ever since Tim was a little boy, he had wanted to watch the grand battles that took place between the Alliance and the Horde. He had always wished to see the clash of steel on steel, the might of muscle against magic. He had always longed to be as close as possible to the action, to see every move, every trick of the trade and every desperate heal. Well, when Tim was 34, he got his wish.

Tim had been happily walking across the bridge in Stormwind when a hurried gnome on a rather bulky mammoth had hit him. Needless to say, Tim didn't live long after that. Indeed, he had always thought that the resurrection of mammoths was a bit of a moot point, since the Elekks the Draenei had brought with them from space were practically the same thing, it was merely a matter of size. And we all know it's not the size that matters, but how you use it.

Luckily for Tim, though, when he died he didn't actually go away. Rather, he stuck around. He wandered for a while; saw the wintery lands of Northrend and mocked Mr. Bigglesworth in the Nerubian ziggurat of Naxxramas.

Death seemed pretty good - until it got better.

One day, wandering the plains of Mulgore, Tim was approached by a short, bearded Dwarf in a dress.

'It's a robe.'

'Sorry.'

'Anyway, I am here to offer ye a once in a lifetime opportunity,'

'It's a bit late for that, don't you think?'

'Well, yes, anyway,' he coughed. 'What would ye say to becoming a Spirit Healer?'

'A what now?'

'A Spirit Healer, boy! Why, they're the most important thing out on them there battlegrounds, who else do ye think keeps the heroes in working order?'

'Uhh, I don't know really, never even thought about it.'

'But they're the front line of every battle, they never fear the enemy, even when they're looking them straight in the eyes!'

'Well that might be because they're dead?'

'And what better thing to do when you're dead, than to help the living kill the living?'

'Gee, I don't know. Wouldn't that sort of be messing with the whole idea of 'you only live once'?'

'Not at all lad, merely... helping 'thin the flock', 'cull the beasts'...'

'Okay, okay… What would I need to do?'

'It's simple lad!'

'Go on…'

'All ye'd need to do is…' the Dwarf paused to pull a scroll from under his dress.

'Robe.'

'Sorry.'

'Right, lad. This is ye quest!'

'My quest?' Tim looked quizzically at the thin parchment. 'I thought only heroes were given quests.'

'Ahh, this quest is a quest to become a hero! (In a manner of speaking)'

"A manner of speaking?"

'Well, ye won't technically become a hero, but ye'll come close!'

'Close?'

'A spirit healer, lad! Ye'll become a spirit healer!'

'That's not a hero…'

''tis in a manner of speaking…'

Tim puzzled over the Dwarf's curious way of looking at his chosen profession, perhaps he had once had his own aspirations to become a great hero, before dying and becoming a spirit healer in a dress.

'Robe.'

'Right.

'What would I need to do on this quest?'

'Ye would have to travel to the greatest reaches of Azeroth, explore the frozen tundra of Northrend, travel through the Dark Portal to the desolate Outlands and find yeself a good tailor to make ye the finest, most dirt-resistant dress ye ever did see!'

'Robe.'

'Eh?'

'Never mind.

'How is it that you propose I do all this then? It'll take me long enough just to find an Undead tailor, let alone one capable of making a robe with such magical properties.'

'Well, lad, that is where my mount comes in handy.'

'Your mount?'

'Yes, it comes with everything I could need…

'It travels faster than the gryphons of the Stormwind elite, carries the most prestigious of tailors ever known to walk the dangerous roads of Bloodmyst Isle; it has the most comfortable seats this side of the maelstrom!'

'All right. Let's see this 3-in-1 mount of yours then.'

Tim was sceptical, to say the least, especially when the curious Dwarf began to poke around in an exceedingly petite backpack.

'Aha!' the Dwarf held a small tin whistle in his hands, it was slightly blackened and rather dimpled from obvious misuse. It made a sharp, piercing screech when the Dwarf blew on it, but not a lot else happened.

'What now?'

'Wait fer it lad, wait fer it…'

The ground began to rumble, small pebbles shook in time with the earth; as Tim turned around he heard a loud trumpeting noise.

'Oh no…'

A large mammoth appeared in Tim's view, charging at an incredible pace and heading right for where he was standing. Running seemed like the obvious option, but as Tim began to run, he found himself impaled on a trunk, its sharpened point jutting quite inconveniently through his stomach.

'She likes ye, lad.'

'Really? I couldn't tell.'

Tim managed to wriggle himself from the mammoths tusk, landing precariously on the ground. He watched as the hole slowly disappeared and his clothes reformed to leave no evidence of the incident ever occurring.

'This, lad, is Mary. She's my pride and joy.'

'Mary?' Tim scanned the massive animal up and down. 'Suits her…'

'Now lad, let Hakmund here take yer measurements, can't have ye running around in a dress too long fer yer wee legs.'

'My legs are longer than yours…'

'Do ye want a dress or a robe? Because talk like that will get you a robe, lad!'

'Dress.'

'Exactly.'

A Draenei hopped down from Mary and stood before Tim. On his head was an ill-fitting turban that did nothing for the gaudily adorned tentacles hanging from his face. Despite this, his tunic was of a high quality, the patterns embroidered to perfection and his pantaloons were of a good fit, with a simple, yet classy hole at the back, that the Draenei's tale poked through.

'Turn around.' Hakmund said in a heavily accented voice.

Tim did as he said. He felt Hakmund's measuring tape skirt up and down his legs and arms, around his waist and his chest.

'Done.'

With that the Draenei disappeared.

'He's gone to make my robe I guess.' Tim mused aloud.

'Dress.'

'Huh?'

'Ahh, here he is again!'

Hakmund appeared again, carrying in his arms a lustrous robe with gold embellishments that were both simple and elegant.

'That was quick!'

'Hakmund works to very tight schedule. Dress was simple to make. You very simple man.'

'Uh, thanks?'

'Try on, Hakmund go back now.'

He handed the dress over and wandered back toward Mary before vanishing into thin air.

'Interesting…

'It's a perfect fit.'

'Of course it is, lad. Did I not tell ye Hakmund is the finest tailor to ever walk Bloodmyst Isle?'

'Yes, but Bloodmyst Isle isn't really all that big. You can't really expect me to think he's this good simply because he was the best on some miniscule little landmass populated by hundreds of blue space goats?'

'Yes, I can.'

'Whatever.'

'Ye, lad, are now a Spirit Healer!'

'Wait… I thought I needed to travel first, was that not part of my quest?'

'Not any more. Mary has decided she didn't like ye after all.'

'Oh. Could've fooled me,' Tim said, fingering the spot where her tusk had run him through. 'What do I do now I'm a Spirit Healer and all?'

'Why, ye heal the dead, of course!'

'Heal the dead? If they're dead, surely they need resurrecting, rather than healing?'

'Yes, that is ye job now.'

'Surely I should be a Spirit Resurrector then?'

'Yes. Ye are.'

'But…'

'Come lad, the battles await!'

With that, the short, bearded Dwarf waved his arms in the air, in quite a peculiar manner and he and Tim were teleported to Warsong Gulch.

'Wow! I'm really in Warsong Gulch, I can hardly believe it!' Tim's eyes were close to popping out of his skull and wandering around the battlefield, he was so excited.

'Now, lad, yer job here is to stand, right about here and wait.'

'Wait?'

'Yes, wait.'

'For…'

'Fer them to die.'

'That's it?'

'Yes.'

'What do I do when someone dies?'

'That is when ye chant yer magical chant.'

'Magical chant? What is that exactly?'

''tis the magical chant that will resurrect the dead, bring them back to life, so that five minutes later you can chant it to them again.'

'Right. What is the magical chant then? What needs must I chant?'

'Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka!' the Dwarf said while bobbing up and down, flapping his arms in a chicken-like manner.

'You have to be kidding me…'

'I'd not joke about something so serious, lad. That magical chant brought Thrall back from the verge of death when he was struck, most suddenly, by the foulest of things.'

'What was it?'

'Arthas' unwashed laundry.'

'Truly horrifying…'

'Indeed, lad, indeed.'

It was at that moment a confused and scarred looking mage appeared before them both.

'Hi there! I'm Tim and I'll be your Spirit Healer for today!'

'My what?'

'Your Spirit Healer!'

'Surely you should've been healing me when that Orc decided to take a bite out of my leg then!'

'That's not my job, sorry.'

'Well, what is your job then?'

Before Tim could answer an angry warrior appeared.

'Oi, Joe!'

'Yeah, Ted?'

'This guy says he's a Spirit Healer!'

'A what now?'

'A Spirit Healer!'

'Shouldn't he have been healing me when that Tauren sat on my face with his super size beef-butt then?'

'That's what I said!'

'Well, that's not really my job…' Tim tried to explain.

'Larry!' Another hero appeared. 'We got us a Spirit Healer!'

'A what?'

'A Spirit Healer!'

'If he's a healer, where was he when that Troll was scalping me and selling it to the highest bidder?'

'That's what I said!'

'And me.' Jim chipped in.

'As I tried to explain,' Tim said, growing increasingly frustrated. 'That's not my job. I'm just here to resurrect you when you die.'

'You're not even doing that, are you?'

'No, Larry, because you keep interrupting me.'

'Me? Interrupting you? Hardly. I've not done anything to you. If you're such a good Spirit Healer, why am I still dead?'

'I never said I was any good.'

'It's true,' added Ted.

'Still, should you not at least be doing something to, you know, resurrect us?'

'Fine then. Since you asked so politely.'

Tim began to bob up and down, moving is arms like a chicken's wings.

"Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka."

'What the f-' before Larry could get any further, he, Ted and Joe vanished before Tim's eyes.

'Wow! Did I just resurrect them?'

'That ye did, lad,' the Dwarf said, returning to Tim's side, beer in-hand.

'Where'd you get that?'

'None of yer business.'

'All right. What were you doing when I had to resurrect those heroes by myself?'

'Getting a beer.'

Tim sighed.

'Well, lad, ye seem to be all right here by yerself. Just remember the chant and ye'll be fine.'

'But, wait. Where are you going?'

'There are greater things fer me to do, lad. Places to be, people to meet. Yer a natural at this, ye'll be fine.'

'By 'places to go', you don't mean the pub, do you?'

The Dwarf hesitated.  
>'I must be going, lad, fare ye well!'<p>

'Bye.'

'Gosh. Finally, I can see them in action: the great heroes of the Alliance battling against the evil Horde. I can't believe I finally get to see this, this is my dream!'

'Less idle chit-chat more Spirit Healing do-da, please.'

Tim turned at the voice of the not-so-thrilled mage, Ted.

'Ted!'

'Yes?'

'You're dead.'

'Really? I thought I was just sleeping. Gone for a quick stroll. BRB Nature's calling and I don't want to miss this call...'

'I get it.

'You're not meant to die, you're meant to be killing the Horde instead of the other way around.'

'Yeah, well, reality ain't really the same as your little fantasy. Also, it seems that every time we kill one of them, they just return 30 seconds later.

'Say… You're not a double agent, are you?'

'No, of course not. The Horde don't deserve to live again.'

'Damn straight. Now, are you going to continue talking, or can I get out of here.'

'Here we go,' Tim said as he began his bobbing and chicken impressions.

"Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka."

Ted vanished.

'I wonder what, or who, could be resurrecting the Horde.'

Checking for any more dead heroes, Tim started out for the other side of Warsong Gulch, the Horde's base.

'I'm sure I'll find clues over there.'

He passed by Ted and Larry fighting a vicious Orc, its massive hammer reigning down on Larry's shield as Ted's feeble arcane bolts dissipated against its thick hide.

'No wonder he keeps dying…'

Tim reached the entrance to the Horde's base. An imposing archway coloured a deep, blood red and adorned with sharp tusks and battle-axes. He walked through to find himself in a long corridor, dimly lit by sparsely placed torches, which did little to alleviate the growing sense of dread nestling in his stomach.

The flag room was just as gloomy, even the glowing flag, emblazoned by the Horde emblem was dark and foreboding in the atmosphere.

Tim walked out onto the hill overlooking the battlefield; upon spotting a graveyard, he walked towards it.

'Tim?' a familiar voice cried. 'What are ye doing here?'

'I could ask you the same.

'What are you doing resurrecting the Horde?'

'My job, which is more than ye are doing!

'What could ye be thinking? Leaving yer post! What if some heroes should die?'

'They can wait. They wouldn't be dying in the first place if you weren't resurrecting the Horde.'

'Well, it's hardly my fault, lad. 'tis my job, besides, I'm just filling in fer Persimmon, she's not feeling well today.'

'Persimmon?'

'The usual Spirit Healer fer this area. She's a Tauren ye know.'

'I'm sure.

'Doesn't mean you have to be the one resurrecting the Horde. Wasn't there anyone else?'

'Well, there was.'

'Why couldn't they do it then?'

'Well, lad, it was…'

'Go on.'

'It was meant to be ye.'

'Me?'

'Ye.'

Tim stumbled back in shock.

'But… So… What if Persimmon hadn't been ill? Would I have ever become a Spirit Healer?'

''Tis doubtful lad.'

'What's going to happen when she's back?'

'Ye'll pass on.'

'Pass on?'

'To the other side.'

'Other side of what?'

'Life. Death. The DFS sale. They're all the same, lad. Never-ending cycles. Ye'll become something new, someone new, on the other side.'

'But… What if I don't want to be something new?'

'Ye have no choice.'

With that Tim stumbled back to his post to find, not just Ted, Larry and Joe, but seven other heroes all awaiting their resurrections.

'And where have you been?'

'The Horde base.'

'So you were working for them, I knew it!'

'No, it wasn't that. I've found out who has been resurrecting the Horde.'

'Oh, well, who is it?'

'My old mentor… the Dwarf.'

'The Dwarf?'

'The Dwarf.'

'Why?'

'He's a temp.'

'For what? Who?'

'Persimmon the Tauren.'

'Oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Well, can you still resurrect us?'

'Sure, but this'll probably be the last time you see me, I was only a temp too. I'll be passing on soon.'

'Oh, shame. You going to resurrect us or what?'

Tim bobbed, his arms flapping.

"Ooga chaka ooga ooga ooga chaka."

The heroes vanished.

Tim sighed and a light appeared.

'Tim,' The light said. 'It is time.'

'For?'

'You to pass over.'

'To where?'

'The other side.'

'Of what?'

'Life, the universe and everything.'

'Oh.'

'Yes. Come with me. Leave your dress behind, you won't be needing it.'

'It's a robe.'

'Sorry.'

End.


End file.
